The sun is rising dimly red, <br />The wind is wailing low and dread; <br />From his cliff the eagle sallies, <br />Leaves the wolf his darksome valleys; <br />In the mist the ravens hover, <br />Peep the wild dogs from the cover, <br />Screaming, croaking, baying, yelling, <br />Each in his wild accents telling, <br />'Soon we feast on dead and dying, <br />Fair-haired Harald's flag is flying.' <br /> <br />Many a crest in air is streaming, <br />Many a helmet darkly gleaming, <br />Many an arm the axe uprears, <br />Doomed to hew the wood of spears. <br />All around the crowded ranks, <br />Horses neigh and armor clanks; <br />Chiefs are shouting, clarions ringing, <br />Louder still the bard is singing, <br />'Gather, footmen; gather, horsemen, <br />To the field, ye valiant Norsemen! <br /> <br />'Halt ye not not for food or slumber, <br />View not vantage, count not number; <br />Jolly reapers forward still, <br />Grow the crop on vale or hill, <br />Thick or scattered, stiff or lithe, <br />It shall down before the scythe. <br />Forward with your sickles bright, <br />Reap the harvest of the fight. <br />Onward footmen, onward horsemen, <br />To the charge, ye gallant Norsemen! <br /> <br />'Fatal Choosers of the Slaughter, <br />O'er you hovers Odin's daughter; <br />Hear the choice she spreads before ye,- <br />Victory, and wealth, and glory; <br />Or old Valhalla's roaring hail, <br />Her ever-circling mead and ale, <br />Where for eternity unite <br />The joys of wassail and of fight. <br />Headlong forward, foot and horsemen, <br />Charge and fight, and die like Norsemen!'-<br /><br />Sir Walter Scott<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-song-of-harold-harfager/
